On Anger and Bravery: love need be the only voice

braveryIf someone would have told me years ago that I’d be a healer and Love helping people, that I’d see it as a Privilege, I’d have told them that they were totally and truly bat-shit crazy. Actually, I wouldn’t have told them; more likely, I’d have done something vilely, insidiously passive-aggressive towards them. It was my own preferred expression of anger that ‘didn’t look like’ anger.

Most everyone that knows me presently will find this extremely difficult to believe, but (if it isn’t obvious from that last paragraph) I used to hate people. And I didn’t discriminate, either; I hated pretty much everyone.

Did I have a ‘why’? Not that I would – or even, could – have thought about it this way at the time, but it was because everyone else needed to recognize how hurt I was, and everyone else was responsible for how I felt. They must have been. After all, I wasn’t. Right? It’s so much easier to hate other people than to admit that you hate yourself.

And we presume it’s so much ‘safer’ to feel anger than sadness.

If we grow up being abused and /or seeing others abused, we’re typically conditioned to believe that if we do what our abuser(s) did but ‘more’, we’ll then be stronger than our abuser; in effect, that we’d be using what we assume is a ‘strength’ that they have, but be better at it. The problem with that is: it doesn’t work (and if you think it does, I’ll ask you how your love life really is). Not only does it alienate the connection with others we’ve been missing, we don’t get to know our Self, our power underneath the burden we’re carrying (and perpetuating).

What to do instead? Stop using anger to try to control things (in the perceived past, conditional present, and anticipated future). Be brave enough to feel the burden of sadness you’re carrying, be vulnerable to it, so that you can get to the bottom of it and then beyond. At least, it’s what worked for me (and I didn’t even think /know I was asking for it)…

In my mid-twenties, my most angry, narcissistic ‘pique’, Spirit handed me a miracle (that didn’t look like a miracle): I lost what semblance of control I was trying to carve for myself. The prescription for all I’d been trying to bury with anger failed me. My daughter, Hannah, was born, and died when she was only ten days old. My wife at the time had me hold her as she was passing. I felt her heart gradually slow and then stop.

I was threatened with feeling all the emotions I’d been to that point trying to avoid. At that moment, I had no choice but to feel. I won’t say that it happened instantaneously, either. All-in-all, my healing took years, on account of there having been years /lifetimes of pains to exorcise. But in that moment, my unraveling was judiciously expedited, and it all came tumbling, clambering, clawing, wailing, destitute-to-my-bones emptying out.

It was heart-breaking. It was heart-making.

The good news is: realizing how empty my heart could feel gave me an appreciation of how much – and ‘what’ – it could be a vessel for as well. As I’ve said, it took a while, but it turns out that Spirit had Answers for that, too.

Big Medicine Love to You
David ‘Black Feather’ Nagy

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